


One More For the Road

by AnnaStachia



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaStachia/pseuds/AnnaStachia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy proves to Jack time and time again that she's more than he ever thought she was capable of being, and he's learning how to handle it. Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More For the Road

Peggy slams the shot glass down with as much force as anyone Jack’s ever seen, swallowing the shot of whiskey with hardly a grimace. She waits half a beat before ordering another round, and turning to him with raised eyebrows expectant. He can feel his own eyebrows shooting up at her… gall? Audacity? Impressive tolerance maybe. His own glass is still in his hand. 

“Don’t tell me you’re finished already?” She asks using that haughty tone that always annoys him. 

“Don’t count yourself so lucky, Carter.” He sneers as he orders what will be their fourth matched round. 

“Good, this would be a rather pathetic competition if you couldn’t make it past three.” He’s pretty sure that’s a smile on her lips. Amusement. She’s laughing at him.

To prove that he is far from out of this contest, he downs his shot as soon as the bartender slides it over to him. The whiskey is a familiar burn down his throat, a refreshing feeling after a long day on the job or out in the field. Today had been both.

She matches him again, and once more as the bartender serves them up another round without being asked. His head swims as he watches her swallow the shot, throat working. Her shot glass hits the counter with another forceful clank, and this time she shakes her head, loose curls bouncing. 

Suddenly he’s never wanted to kiss a woman more, and the realization floors him. This is Peggy Carter after all, the bane of his existence. Here she is, a _woman_ just as capable as him if not more so. She’s managed to somehow upstage him in nearly every way lately, and it’s maddening. It’s unbelievable. It’s attractive. 

He tries to shake the thought out of his head. He must be drunk. Agent Carter is a mere annoyance and distraction, thinking that she can come in with her innovative ideas and take over every investigation. The fact that she is something more than a filing service and coffee fetcher is laughable (and Jacks’ had plenty a laugh about it) and incredulous. 

Time and time again, she has worked to prove him and everyone else wrong, for what? Some girl power kick? 

Time and time again, she has succeeded in proving him and everyone else in the S.S.R wrong. She’s saved his life, more times than he’s saved hers. 

She drives him up the wall crazy. And he can’t stop thinking about her. 

The way she orders another shot and downs it, even though he’s made no move to match her. God help him, he’s _impressed_. 

“All right there, Jack? Do we need t’get’you home?” Still taunting him, even when her own words are starting to slur, and her eyes unfocus a bit. 

Still, his world is spinning, and somehow she’s at the center of it. He doesn’t know how she got there. He’s not even sure he likes her there. But there she is, and he gets the feeling she’s not going away any time soon. Even once the alcohol haze wears off. 

So he puts on a lazy smirk, “You offerin’ me a ride, Carter? I don’even think y’can walk straight.”

“Perhaps you are correct. However I am perfectly capable of calling you a cab. And I did have one more round than you, so I believe that makes this my win.” Her words are carefully and slowly dictated, which sounds so natural in her English accent. 

“Isn’t it always.” he mumbles, trying to shake her from his thoughts again. 

She puts a hand on his arm, and he flinches beneath her touch. Peggy’s hand remains, gentle, caring. That motherly side, that she doesn’t even try to bury. 

It’s not fair. She’s not fair. How can she be one of the guys, and still be just as womanly as any other woman he’s met?

“Are you sure you’re all right?” That concerned tone. He’s heard it before directed at him or otherwise. Always concerned about everyone else. Never about her, nor would she let anyone be concerned about her. 

He stands suddenly, jerking his arm away and reaching to steady himself on the stool. “Fine. I just…” A smooth excuse is just out of reach in the fog that clouds his brain, and he fumbles to find one, “Gotta get home. Tha’s all.”

“Well, here, lemme help you.” She stands as well, just as unsteady as he is, and steps out of her heels. 

“Don’ need your help, Carter.”

And he doesn’t. He doesn’t need her help, because he’s been far more drunk than this and gotten home just fine. Jack Thompson is no damsel in distress. Yet the more time he spends with Peggy Carter, the more he finds himself in distress. 

“Come now, Jack. At th’very leas’ we can help each other out. I’m not proud to admit that I am a glass or two too many and--”

He cuts her off lips pressed against hers sudden and urgent. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until it was happening. When she doesn’t respond he reaches out to take her by the waist, but never gets that far. 

Peggy jerks away from him, eyes wide, lipstick slightly smeared. “The bloody hell, Thompson!”

A mistake. He knows it instantly. Whatever he is feeling, she isn’t. It must be the whiskey. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about her, about kissing her, about her showing him how it’s really done, because that’s all she ever does. 

This was a huge mistake. 

He won’t apologize. At least not tonight. Maybe he’ll rethink it when he’s sober and had time to process everything. 

Instead he smirks, that one he knows annoys her and gets under her skin. “Forget about it. Have yourself a lovely night, Marge.” She hates the name, and that’s why he uses it. 

Her lips purse, and his eyes immediately cut to them. Anyone else and it would be an invitation, but he knows better with Carter. She isn’t any other woman. She’s something else entirely. Something that Jack isn’t sure he understands, but he thinks he’s starting to learn. 

“Have a good night, Agent Thompson.” Her words are sharp as she turns and scoops up her shoes. 

Jack’s starting to get an understanding of Peggy Carter, and he thinks that he might actually be starting to like it. Or maybe starting to like this strong, capable, impressive woman.


End file.
